— O Holy Mary, Mother of God, protect us sinners— His coal-black hair fell over her eyes as he knelt before the enormous altar that loomed imposingly over that poor wretch — Now and at the hour of our death, amen.
His impure lips kissed the rosary in his hands with devotion; a trembling sigh escaped his as he stood up.
— Oh Holy Mother, my mother, please help me to rid myself of these impure thoughts that torment me, Holy Mother, you who see all, you who are the mother of our Lord, have mercy, my mother, on these impure desires that overwhelm me, the temptation that fills me, that calls to me.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, a man of faith, a man who longed for the touch of another man, who desired the warmth of that body, those eyes full of lust that rested upon him like the devil himself, calling him to sin.
Is this what Adam felt when Eve held out the forbidden fruit to him, so that he might fall alongside her?
Dazai—that was the name of that tempting fruit.
Osamu was the name of his torment, of his sleepless nights, of his desperate prayers.
Oh Holy Mother, please let that man burn in the fires of hell, that accursed sorcerer.
For surely, Osamu had to be a heathen; only a heathen could bring such temptation to a man as upright and faithful as Fyodor claimed to be—only the devil himself, an envoy of Lilith.
Was Osamu the serpent who tempted Eve to bite the apple of sin? Or was he something else? Perhaps it was Eve herself, who had fallen for the poisoned words of evil and now wanted to drag him down with her.
Perhaps Dazai had once been a pure being; he had to have been. That angelic face, those coffee-coloured eyes that kept him awake, calling to him, making him addicted.
Oh Holy Mother, you know I am your son; you know I am pure of heart.
Dazai had fallen into sin; he had seen him at the market, dancing with that wretched redhead, their bodies pressed together, laughter in the air; Fyodor had ordered the night market to be burned down that night, in the hope of ridding himself of his petty troubles.
Perhaps that vermin was the serpent tempting Eve.
Holy Mother, allow me to save the souls of those poor sinners by bringing them to you.
Dazai was a sinner, a pagan; he prayed to the sun, danced to the moon, his deep eyes that sometimes seemed like black wells, which would momentarily light up when the light struck them at a certain angle—that red glint that filled the body of a man of faith with warmth.
It made sense that Osamu was Eve, created from Adam’s rib, straying from the Lord’s path because of the poisonous words of a third party.
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